


Agent Sherlock and the day Scotland Yard found out

by gunpowder_and_pearls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Agent Sherlock, BAMF Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 05:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowder_and_pearls/pseuds/gunpowder_and_pearls
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is one of the best agents the program has ever seen. However, he quit and became a detective after a particular mission went south. Now, someone from his past is back for revenge.





	Agent Sherlock and the day Scotland Yard found out

**Author's Note:**

> My very first fanfic, please leave advice and ect in the comments. (kudos is appreciated!!)

Sherlock stalked onto the crime scene, his hands tightly balled in his pockets and collar turned up against the wind.

John walks beside him, face set grimly. _He’s carrying his handgun. Expecting trouble?_ Of course, you could never be too careful with these types of crimes. _Four dead, lined up in a row, no fingerprints on scene, no video footage. God, this is at least a seven. _

DI Lestrade was waiting for them at the entrance to a rather crumbling and deteriorating brick building. He gave a small wave of acknowledgement to the detective and the soldier as they approached.

“Hello Sherlock, John. Thank god you two picked up. This one’s a pretty difficult one, ‘least for my team.”

_It always is. Idiots. _

“Yes well, show us on in then?” John had stepped forward, gesturing to the doorway. Lestrade nodded sharply and ducked into the building, the other two men trailing behind him.

Lestrade-Grey? Gabe?-led them to a large room, blue covered police swarming around it. _Destroying the evidence. Too loud! God, I can’t think! _

“Lestrade!” He spun on the graying man. “Get them all out of there. They can wait in the doorway if they must, but they are ruining anything clues there might be!”

Lestrade nodded and stepped into the room, waving an arm for attention. “Ay! I want all of you out of ‘ere, now! For five minutes. You can wait in the hallway, but get out, let’s go!”

The other officers slowly shuffled out, grumbles and glares being tossed the tall detective’s way, but they went unnoticed.

Sherlock crouched down to examine the first body, a white older man. _Belt tightened quite more than he’s used to, he’s putting more effort into his appearance. Affair? Unhappy marriage, seeing a younger woman on the side. Burst blood vessels on the nose and cheeks, alcoholic but not attempting to stop by the looks of his hands and shirt. _

He moved to the next corpse. _Young, teacher maybe? No, therapist. The ink stains are much more constant. She was very meticulous about her appearance, everything perfectly done, except her lipstick. What happened with her lipstick? _

Sherlock stiffened, something wasn’t right. After several years in the secret service, he had developed a sense for when something was off.

The cock of a gun filled the room and the detective froze, slowly turning from his spot on the floor to see a man in a pressed suit-_cares about his appearance, dramatic, three... no four knives, how could I have missed that one? And one gun_...pointed straight at Sherlock.

The rest of the Scotland Yard had frozen, Lestrade with his hand halfway to his pocket. John has sunk into a defensive stance and reached for his own gun only to freeze as the man aimed at his flat mate.

“Sherlock Holmes. I have been looking for you.”

The genius raised an eyebrow and rose to his full height. “Moriarty sent you? No…” He ran his gaze over the other man. “You’re working alone. You are very well trained, definitely foreign and very eager to kill me. Tell me, does the laundry lady know what you are? Or are you keeping your job a secret in an effort to settle down?”

The gun wielding man stiffened but kept his weapon steady. “You escaped me in Afghanistan. You escaped before I could get any answers out of you. I’ve come back to finish the job, _Agent_ Holmes.”

Sherlock smiled slowly, feeling the dozens of eyes that were darting between the two men rest on him. “Funnily enough, I don’t know who you are. Were you Istanbul? Or Budapest? I thought I had blown both of those businesses to bits.”

The other man let out a quiet growl. “Those were my friends you got killed. And you don’t even know their names. Istanbul was just another mission for you. This is just another mission for me. After you, I’ll go after your brother. See how fast England falls without him.”

“Ah, so you are from Istanbul. I should have figured that one out faster. Obvious, by your tie and suit.” Sherlock gestured loosely at the assassin. “That style only comes from two places, Germany and Istanbul. Obviously not European, you were far too uncomfortable on whatever train you took to get here.”

The other man cocked his head and took a step closer. “So they weren’t lying about you. You can read off someone’s life with one glance.”

“Why would anyo-” Sherlock lunged forward in the middle of his sentence, ripping the man’s gun away with one hand and slamming his other hand’s palm straight into his nose. The man dropped like a stone before scrambling up, raising his fists in a sloppy attempt at a fighting stance.

The detective sunk into an instinctive defensive position, slowly circling his would-be assassin. The room was silent, as if everyone but the two fighters in the center of the room were holding their breath. Then the assassin lunged forward, fists swinging wildly but powerfully. Sherlock swayed to one side, feeling the air brush against his skin with the speed of the blow. _That one was just to test me. See how fast I am. Now he is fighting for real. _

Both men paused, taking stock of their opponent.

Sherlock moved first.

Darting forward, he feinted a left hook, immediately following through with a punch to the other man’s gut. His fist sank into the man’s belly and the man stumbled, all the breath leaving him in one big whoosh. Moving by the same speed by which he struck, Sherlock circled around the other man as he caught his breath.

“Ready to give up yet?”

The assassin shook his head. “You are faster then they said. But you still overestimate yourself.” He held up a hand, a small plastic _thing_ clutched in it.

A detonator.

Sherlock spun, eyes scanning the room before he felt the weight shifting in his pocket. Thrusting his hand into it, he dug out a small blinking _bomb_. He narrowed his eyes as he examined it. _Too small to just be a gas, obviously meant to kill. An explosion then. Is it too powerful to through out the window? Would it demolish this building if it lands nearby? _

The horror and fear in the Scotland Yard’s officers, however stupid they were, urged him on. _Foreignly made, screwed tight. Only activated when the button is pushed then, he wasn’t afraid to put it on me during the fight. Only meant to kill me then, it’s a warning. To England and The Academy then. Should be fine if I throw it far enough. _

He sprinted to the window that the assassin had undoubtedly come through, and hauled it open, eyeing the ground below. Estimating angles and forces as well as keeping in mind the plumbing and gas lines below the surface, Sherlock cocked his arm back and hurled the bomb as far into the nearby lake as he could. It was only a moment’s pause before a geyser of water exploded from the surface, tremors traveling through the ground all the way to the group frozen in the doorway. The room shook for a moment, the two fighters standing in the center of it as dust fell from the ceiling and the floorboards cracked.

It was over as soon as it began and Sherlock lunged forward, taking the disorientation of the explosion to whip out a pair of cuffs and clap them onto the other man’s wrists, ripping the detonator away and quickly patting him down, removing anything that was or could be used as a weapon.

The Scotland Yard remained staring, Anderson gaping and Donovan looking like her eyes were going out fall out of her head.

“Do stop gaping,” Sherlock scoffed, hauling the assassin to his side. “It makes your IQs seem non-existent.” He continued on quieter. “For Anderson of course, there is no difference.”

“Wha-but how?” Anderson was stuttering as the detective approached. _Buffoon_.

“_Agent_ Sherlock? Since when?” Lestrade’s eyes were wide and he wore a dumbfounded expression that almost reached Anderson’s level of intelligence.

“Since I was eighteen. Any more questions?”

“Th-The case…”

“Oh yes, that was a trap specifically for me and made to trap people of my presumed skill set. Unfortunately for them, they did not know my entire skill set.” He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be going now, if that’s all.” He turned to his blogger. “Ready, John?”

The soldier hadn’t moved since the explosion, jaw clenched and eyes slightly unfocused, but at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, he shook himself out of his stupor. “You know what, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.” He straightened his jacket and headed to the door, pushing through the crowd of officers.

Sherlock followed, albeit slower, dragging the struggling assassin with him. The odd trio had made it only a few paces from the building when a dark car pulled up to the sidewalk.

_Mycroft. He’s getting slower._ One of the tinted windows rolled down and Mycroft’s face appeared. “Hello brother mine.”

“Mycroft.”

The back door popped open and Sherlock pushed the cuffed man into the back, making sure to slam the door shut. After a few seconds of silence, Mycroft’s driver pulled away, leaving Sherlock and John standing on an empty sidewalk.

Sherlock turned to John. “Angelo’s?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Great, I’ll call a cab.” The dark haired man stepped into the road, a black cab pulling over almost immediately. The two piled into the back, Sherlock pausing from his texting to dig out his wallet, and they were off, leaving one D.I. Lestrade and almost a fourth of Scotland Yard’s officers in the brick building, with too many questions and no one to ask.


End file.
